


The Stars In Your Eyes

by Insignias



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories, Sex Toys, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 21:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15470907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insignias/pseuds/Insignias
Summary: “Sorry, man, I gotta get at least four hours of sleep or beauty’s gonna be a beast--” Shiro grabs his wrist, callused fingers warm. Lance looks down at it, falling quiet.“Lance. Talk to me."





	1. Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first multi-chapter fic I've written in the better part of a decade and I'm so incredibly happy I can post it on Lance's birthday! Y'all can thank clairesail for inspiring me to try my hand at more complex storytelling and SouthernBird for encouraging me through it all. Thanks for checking it out!

There's not much Lance can do. 

He's not smart like Pidge, who hacks and patches computers like they're toys, not like Hunk who can turn a single piece of scrap metal and a motherboard into a masterpiece of engineering, he's not even like the castle-ship, able to synthesize anything if they give it the right specs (Pidge excels at its functions, but refuses to reveal her secrets). 

No, he's just Lance. Lance the once-sharpshooter, the continuing seventh wheel. The broken cog in the machine if Pidge and Hunk get angry enough at him. 

It isn't like he's not aware of it, it's more that he can't help it. Can't help wanting to be a part of it, wanting to do something, wanting to be useful. 

Lance doesn't do well when he's not useful. 

It's a character flaw that's becoming more and more grating on his friends. Their patience wearing thinner as the stakes grow higher. They're in the middle of an intergalactic war, just the seven of them, all stuck on a castle ship with nothing to do except everything Lance can't help with. They don't need friend advice or a shoulder to cry on, they need cables and odd looking tools and enough time to patch systems together that never have been before. They need someone who can help with all that now, like right now, and Lance just...doesn't have that skill set. 

He's a peacemaker, but there's no one he can make peace with.

It's how he's found himself on the command deck for the last month, flat on his back and staring up at countless stars spiraled out above him in some great cosmic pattern. He can't say why he ends up there: it's not like there aren't plenty of other places on this ship to see the stars, but this one has become a habit; slipping up here in the dead of space-night, counting stars until he's tired enough to actually go to bed, exhausted enough it's dreamless. It usually works, sometimes, maybe half. It's a good excuse, anyway. 

He's counting the biggest stars he can see when he hears the door open with a quiet hiss, feels his body tense up for the inevitable questioning, the accusatory looks soon to be aimed his way. 

Better get it over with.

“I know, I know, 'don't lay on the command deck it sets a bad image',” Lance intones, solemn and weary as he sits up, starts brushing himself off, “Sometimes a guy just wants some me-time, ya know? And it's not like--” 

He pauses, blinking. The lights hadn't powered on, and the footsteps he'd heard behind him had been solid, but quiet. He turns, curious, because the last thing anyone's done has been to stay quiet when he's been in the way. 

But it's Shiro standing there, looking sheepish and a little surprised, as if he hadn't noticed Lance until that moment. He's as much out of his uniform as Lance has ever seen him. Vest and shirt discarded for one of the loose sleep shirts the castle-ship has provided them, loose pants tucked into his boots, last of the uniform to fall, or so they say. It's kind of adorable, in a Shiro way. 

“Oh.” Lance says, taking it in, “Come here often?” 

“Lance.” Shiro says, blinking, glancing over the space around him, as if someone else might be hiding, “Shouldn't you be sleeping?”

“I could say the same about you,” Lance volleys back, arching a brow as discomfort roils in his gut. He doesn't want a fight, not today. Let him have today. 

Shiro frowns at him, thoughtful, and Lance can almost see the argument in his head, whether to be the leader and tell him off, or give ground. He knows his answer when Shiro sighs, drops his shoulders. 

“Mind if I join you?”

Lance blinks, startled. He expected a retreat, an apology maybe, as if he needed to give one, but Shiro just stands there, arms at his sides. He looks tired. Resigned.

Lance pats the floor beside him, offers a smile. 

Shiro settles beside him slowly, grunting a little as he does, like folding himself in is an effort. He props his arms on top of his knees and cranes his head up to stare out at the endless sky. The silence stretches; a couple dobashes tick by. 

“You know, I've been traveling across the universe for over a year, ” Shiro sighs, frowning at the sky, “And I still can't figure out why Milky Way bars are called that. They don't look anything like it.” 

And just like that, the tension fractures. 

“Oh my god,” Lance blurts, hiccuping a laugh, “How long has this been tormenting you?”

Shiro grins at him, “Longer than you want to know.” 

Lance shakes his head, “Oh, man, no, you gotta tell me. How long has it been?”

Shiro pauses, looks thoughtful for a moment, “Longer than the last time I had one?” His frown deepens, “Actually, I can't remember the last time I had one.” 

“Please tell me you've had a chocolate bar more than once a year.” 

Shiro glances at him sideways. Lets the silence stretch. 

“Oh my god, do you even remember what sugar is?”

Shiro laughs, shaking his head, “Theoretically. We've been on goo for a while now.” 

Lance groans, flops back onto the cold deck, “Don't remind me, dude. I'm so tired of being Hunk's guinea pig.” 

Shiro hums, “It's not so bad. It's food.” 

“Come talk to me after the fiftieth time Hunk's said 'try this one', then we'll see who has the last laugh.”

Shiro chuckles, acquiescing, and looks back up at the sky. 

They watch together as the stars slowly filter by, blanketed by a comforting silence.

It lasts about as long as Lance can let it. 

His gaze finds Shiro, stoic and calm, as relaxed as Lance has seen him. He sucks in a breath; gambles.“You wanna talk about it?”

Shiro starts, just a little, like he'd forgotten Lance was there. Lance would be offended by the notion, but the thought of Shiro relaxing enough to forget about his presence is flattering, in its own way. 

Shiro looks down at him, expression unreadable. Lance half-expects to be brushed off, because Shiro's need to be the strong leader usually outweighs everything else, but Lance can't help himself. Being a leader doesn't mean you stop needing help every once in a while.

Shiro finally lets out a sigh, closing his eyes. “I don't know if that's a good idea.”

Lance nods, gazed fixed on the sky, “That’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you you don’t want to, man. I’m not here to make life more difficult.” 

Shiro makes a sound, something between a laugh and a snort. Lance screws up his nose, “All right, I don’t try to. Not usually.” 

Shiro snorts again, “The same way you don’t try flirting with every girl you see?” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault the universe is filled with pretty beings, I’m just trying to establish good inter-species relations.” 

Shiro is laughing now, hiding it behind his forearms, but his shoulders are shaking. Lance groans. 

“You know I’m not completely oblivious, right?” He asks, sitting up on his elbows, leveling Shiro with a serious look. Shiro raises an eyebrow at him, bemused, “Like, I get that it’s dumb.” 

“But you keep doing it.” Shiro points out, raising a brow. 

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s the only way people will look at me.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Then Lance sits up, rolls onto a crouch, dusting off his jeans, “Anyway I just wanted you to know that you’re not alone here, dude. We all want to help, and we’re all ready to talk when you are.” 

“Lance, wait—” 

“Sorry, man, I gotta get at least four hours of sleep or beauty’s gonna be a beast--” Shiro grabs his wrist, callused fingers warm. Lance looks down at it, falling quiet. 

He averts his gaze, stares at the blank face of the control hub, “Dude, it's not that serious, promise—” 

“Lance.” 

It's just his name, just a word, but that word has Lance faltering, gaze inexorably drawn back to him. 

“Talk to me,” Shiro urges, earnest, concern etched in the furrow of his brow, “What's going on?” 

Lance shrugs, tries to laugh it off, “It's not a big deal, Shiro. We kind of have bigger fish to fry right now.” 

“It's a big deal if it's hurting you, Lance.” Shiro's eyes are intent, “Please.”

Lance frowns, scrunches up his nose; lets a sigh burst out of him. It's so fucking hard not to give in when Shiro looks at him like that. Like he really cares, like he'll listen to all of Lance's problems and tell him it's gonna be okay.

“I'm just...sometimes I get lonely, okay? I mean, everyone has something to do. Pidge and Hunk are always messing with the castle, Allura's with Lotor rediscovering Atlantis or something, you're always making plans to keep us alive. I just.” He scowls, looks at the ground, “I don't know how to do any of that. I don't know—I don't know how to help. And when I try to I just screw it up.”

He sighs, “I know it's dumb. What I do, when I joke around—it's not that I don't see it, but I can't stop. It's like--” He fumbles, grasps for the words, “I'm trying to make everything better, maybe get a laugh, but these days I just kinda...piss everyone off. And that hurts, after a while. You know? Being yelled at instead of laughed at just hurts sometimes.”

The silence falls again and Lance sits in it, wondering in growing horror if he managed to fuck things up even more. 

“I'm sorry.” Shiro says. Lance almost falls over just from that.

“What?” Lance squeaks, shocked, gaze drawn inexorably back to Shiro, wide-eyed, “Dude, there's no reason for you--”

Shiro shakes his head, firm. “I should've realized—we all should've realized—what you've been trying to do. You shouldn't ever feel like a burden.” 

“Dude, seriously, it's fine, I know—” 

“Lance.” Every time; every time Shiro says his name, he finds himself floored all over again, unable to move, “You're important to us. Not just as a paladin of Voltron, as a person.” Shiro looks at him, so earnest, Lance feels goosebumps raise on his arms. “If something's troubling you, don't ever think you can't talk to us about it.” 

Lance coughs, looks away, “I think we kind of have bigger problems to deal with these days, Shiro. The universe is kind of depending on us.” 

“The universe isn't standing in front of me right now, and if it was I'd still tell it to wait.” Shiro stares at him, solid as a rock, “Tell me how I can help.” 

Lance's heart squeezes, lodges in his throat, he swallows it down. 

“Wow.” He croaks, when he can manage a sound, he takes a shuddering breath, “You can really pull out the big guns when you want to, huh.” 

Shiro gives him a look, trying to be serious, but the corners of his mouth are twitching. 

Lance laughs, it comes out more like a cough. “I don't know man. Maybe listen? Talk to me sometimes? I'm not used to people asking.”

But Shiro's nodding at him like he means it. Lance tries not to let his heart swell with hope, “Okay,” He says, “Okay. Talk to me.”

 

**

 

Meeting after dark becomes something of a habit after that. 

Sometimes Lance is too tired to be good company, sometimes Shiro doesn't come at all, but most nights they end up together on the command deck, staring out at whatever ambles its way across the screens. It's comfortable, sharing the quiet, but sometimes Lance can't stand the silence and Shiro never tells him to stop. 

So they talk. A lot. About a little bit of everything, after a while. Lance tells him about his family, his siblings, the summers on his aunt's farm; how he learned to milk a cow. Shiro tells him about his parents, about the garrison, how he met Matt Holt the first week of training when he caught him trying to hot wire one of the locked doors, specifically because someone had told him not to. 

They talk about little things, what concoction Lance has figured out to plug into the synthesizer to keep his skincare routine on point, when Shiro started wearing eyeliner, what happened to Zarkon's face to make it look like that. The big questions come later; how they're coping with forming Voltron, living together in a giant castle-ship; their constant need to flee from every fleet of Galra that finds them. Allura buries herself in the rebellion and the rest of them follow suit. It's what they're here for, after all. The pressure makes their night visits more special, more needed. It gives them both something to hold on to when the Galra harry their every step.

 

**

 

Lance kisses him first. 

They're on the command deck, tucked under a blanket, pouring over a data pad Lance smuggled out of Coran's stash, an incomprehensible movie playing, the alien actors voices replaced by their own, dubbing it as they went and laughing at what they come up with. It's silly, a little juvenile, but it's a distraction from everything, and Lance knows sometimes Shiro needs that more than anyone else. 

Lance kisses Shiro without thinking about it; Shiro's laughing at something stupid Lance said, and he just looks so good, framed by the soft light of the data pad between them, the stars above them. Lance can't help but lean into him, press his lips to his, feel his heart drop when Shiro falters. 

He pulls away, sheepish, eyes downcast, because of course it's wrong, of course he got the wrong message, Shiro would never-- 

There's a hand on his chin, tipping it up, and Lance can do little more than scrape out an apology before Shiro's kissing him. Soft, gentle, coaxing his mouth to open with soft pecks, until Lance gasps for a breath of air and Shiro follows. Shiro kisses him like he's sure of it, like he's done it his whole life, like all he wants to do is keep kissing Lance. 

When they pull apart, finally, Lance flushed and breathless, thighs pressed together and blanket pooled around them, Shiro sighs, eyes fluttering open. His hand still cups Lance's cheek. 

“Wow,” Lance breathes, heart pounding in his ears. He's grinning; he can't stop, “Talk about truth to rumors.” 

Shiro snorts and drops his head, shaking it in disbelief, “Why am I not surprised.” 

Lance laughs, runs his fingers through Shiro's short-cropped hair, tugs gently at his fringe, “I can't believe you let me kiss you.” 

“I can't believe you wanted to.” Shiro admits, meeting his gaze. Lance blinks at him, brows furrowed. 

“Shiro, you are literally the most beautiful guy I've ever met.” 

Shiro sputters, coughs, stares at him wide-eyed, “Hold on a second, I thought--” 

“What, that I only like girls?” Lance sighs, rolling his shoulders, “I like both, I guess. Guys and girls. It's just safer to flirt with girls.” 

Shiro frowns at him, clearly thrown off, “Because they'll say yes?” 

“Because they'll say no, Shiro,” Lance shrugs, “If they reject me right off the bat it hurts less. And everyone expects me to, anyway.” 

There goes the eyebrow. Lance wants to kiss it, just a little. Instead he presses close again, licks his lips, lets his eyes fall half-closed, “Let me show you what people don't.”

 

**

 

Zarkon revives like some kind of evil cockroach, Shiro nearly dies and Lotor saunters his way onto the castle-ship after nearly killing them. He sets Lance on edge, not the least with the fact he's a castaway Galran prince, but with the way he looks at Allura, the way he eyes everyone else with that calculating gaze. Lance doesn't trust him, not as far as he can throw him. 

Shiro tries to play peacemaker, but Lance can tell he's conflicted. There's something warring inside him, but Lance can't quite parse it out. It just rubs him the wrong way to know someone like Lotor lurks on their ship.

 

**

 

He finds Shiro in the hallway, curled tight into himself; silent and shaking. 

“Shiro?” Lance calls, pulse picking picking up, something unnameable and stricken rolling over in his gut at the sight. The older man flinches at the sound; raises a slow, unsteady hand to halt him coming closer. 

“I'm fine.” He rasps, “I'm fine. I just need a minute.” 

But Lance is already moving forward, careful and quiet, suspicions confirmed by the sick-sweet smell of vomit at Shiro's feet. His hand, the one not outstretched in a futile attempt to block him, is clamped tight over his eyes, lips drawn back in a seared grimace, pain etched in every feature Lance can take in. When Lance lays a hand on his shoulder, a breath shudders out of Shiro and Lance knows it's worse.

“My room or yours?” He murmurs, wincing in sympathy as Shiro's jaw tightens, Lance can almost hear his teeth creaking.

“The closest.” 

 

**

 

Shiro's room is spartan, economical, void of personal touch. Even his bed is perfect, blankets tucked in to sharp lines, no hint of Shiro having ever slept in it, absurd as that thought is. 

He helps Shiro to the bed in the dark, slow and easy. Shiro is silent as the grave; face ashen, skin clammy. His chest aches as he watches Shiro press his face into the pillow, an arm draped over his eyes, the other curled around his stomach. He'd described this to Lance, once, quiet and sheepish: 

_“It's like my brain is taking a hammer to my skull. Like my head is trying to just,” He motioned an explosion with his hands, dropped them with a wry smile, “Slam its way out, I guess. It's hard to explain.”_

__

__

_“Do you get them a lot?” Lance had asked, tucking this knowledge away, saving a thought to wonder if there was a setting on a healing pod; what could be done to help him through it._

__

__

_“Every couple weeks or so.” Shiro sighed; scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I didn't really get them before the Galra.” He lifted a shoulder, paused, mouth twisting. “Guess it's another thing I can thank them for.”_

Lance hesitates, knowing it's best to leave Shiro, let him ride the pain in what comfort his room brings, undisturbed by noise and light until it finally ends, letting him catch a few hours of rest until he's up again, the immovable, decisive leader of Voltron. But seeing Shiro as he is now, curled in on himself, breath short and pained, wracked with something Lance can't tear off him, he can't bring himself to. 

He finally takes a step to leave, because it's been too long not to. Shiro must want some peace, something other than someone staring at him helplessly while he wracks his brain for answers. He can check the healing pods again, he can tell the others to leave Shiro alone for a while, distract them with stupid ideas, try to make something more edible than goo, there must be something.

“Stay.” Shiro croaks, hollowed out, each word carving another piece out of him. “Don't—don't go. Please.” 

“Okay,” Lance whispers, and comes to him. He folds himself onto the floor, presses a hand to the one on Shiro's stomach, “I'm here. I won't leave you.”

Shiro makes a sound, wraps his fingers around Lance's and grips it tight; breathes a little easier.

 

**

 

Lance sobs, gasps into the pillow, sees stars as the toy expands inside him another level, filling him up so much. Hot and slick and perfect. It's too much and not enough, the vibrating feature hasn't been turned on, the tip of it only just touches his sweet spot. He squirms, tries to force it deeper. Keens high in his throat when it retreats until on the head spears him open. He feels so empty.

Hands find his hips, pull them higher, lets Shiro get a good look at him: pink hole stretched tight around the dark silicon of the toy, held fast by thin straps on his thighs, open and needy and so, so ready for more.

“Tell me how this feels,” Shiro croons, stroking up his legs, remote held loose in his hand, “Do you recommend it?” 

“God,” Lance wheezes, his thighs tremble with the stretch, his rim clenches, flutters, tries to take the toy back inside, but the straps hold firm, keeping him open, held fast under Shiro's control. 

Lance wonders, hazily, if showing Shiro his toy collection had been the best idea. 

“Hm?” Shiro murmurs, the ghost of his breath against his thigh, making Lance shiver, goosebumps pebbling up his arms, “Please tell me, Lance, what do you think? Should we keep using it?” 

“God, yes, it's good, it's good, please, more, I--” 

Shiro presses a button. The toy shoves inside him and he's so full, so full, it's almost enough--

It retreats almost immediately and Lance cries out, clenching and clenching as it pulls free of him. He gasps, shudders, feels lube slip out of him, hole winking in a futile effort to keep it inside. He's making a mess of the bed, his cock hanging heavy, aching, precum dribbling out in a steady stream. 

He wants to come so bad. 

“Shiro, please, please let me--” 

“Let me, Lance.” Shiro orders, the head of the fake cock presses against him again, the blunt head a promise of what he can have, if he's good, if he listens, “Show me everything.”

It enters him, slowly this time, the first ridge popping into him with an obscene squelch. Lance groans, arches for it, and keens when it halts, not enough. 

“Shiro.” He whines, reaching under himself, using his fingers to spread himself, a tease, an invitation, please, please more--

“I need it, please.” He sobs, his back arches, he humps the mattress, trying to get the toy further inside him, trying to feel anything, everything, he needs it so bad, “Please, Shiro, please, I can't, I need it in me, I need to come with you inside me, please, please it's not enough, I need--” 

The toy shoves itself to the hilt inside him and Lance howls, pounds his fist into the bed, humps back on the sweet, thick pressure inside him. His insides clench around it, milking it, seizing as it scrapes against his prostate like a kiss. More, more, let him come. 

“Which do you want, Lance?” Shiro demands, his fingers grasp at the base of the toy, grind it so sweet against his rim, Lance can't get enough air. “The toy or me, Lance? What do you want to come with?” Lance gasps, his body seizes, the thought of having to choose 

“You, you, fuck, god, come here.” 

He yowls when the toy is yanked out of him, straps snapping free, probably broken, and Lance fucking revels in it, humping the air, feeling empty and loose. Ready, so ready, give it to me--

When Shiro's cock slams into him he moans his delight, shoving back into him without hesitation. Shiro sets a brutal pace, snapping his hips into him without waiting for Lance to adjust, pounding into him with sharp, deep thrusts as Lance cries and gasps out his pleasure; insides seizing around the girth of him, fucked open and spread wide, Shiro's grip bruising on his thighs. 

It's fucking perfect, it's just right, Goldilocks's got nothing on the feel of this, Shiro inside him, all around him, scraping his teeth up Lance's neck, groaning in his ear, “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it.” 

He comes, untouched, fireworks exploding behind his eyes as his body seizes, insides fluttering, milking Shiro, groaning loud and long as he feels Shiro empty himself inside him; the warmth flooding him right where it belongs. 

He shivers as they come down, pants for breath. He wonders when they can go again. 

Shiro twitches inside him, groans when Lance squeezes around him again. 

Not long at all, he bets.

 

**

 

Shiro kisses him, harsh and quick, teeth sinking into his bottom lip until Lance gasps, opens his mouth to let Shiro in. He strokes Lance's tongue with his own, crowds into him until Lance swears he can feel the heat of him through their armor, pants for breath when Shiro draws back, eyes dark. 

“You don't let your fans do this with you.” He rumbles, his thumb traces Lance's bottom lip, “Just me. Think about that.” 

He tips Lance's chin up, presses close again. Lance can't breathe, caught in the look in Shiro's eyes, the anticipation of what's he may do next. 

Shiro grins at him, slow and wide, and releases him, stepping back. 

“Let's make this show one to remember, right, Lance?” 

Lance stares after him. Narrows his eyes. 

 

**

 

Shiro swears, loud and vicious as Lance laughs at him, ankles locked behind his neck. Folded in half like this, there's not much he can do but take it, and take it he does. Sopping wet and eager for it, filled to the brim by Shiro's girth and covered in the weight of him, the subject of all his fevered attention.

“Can't believe you never showed me this,” Shiro growls, thrusting in to the hilt. Lance gasps, shivering and clenching around him, giggling in choppy breaths. It makes Shiro grit his teeth, grind his cock into Lance's ass until he whines, clenching around him for more. He's so wet, so wet, because Shiro is always thorough in his prepping, even when his erection is straining from his suit, even when his hands shake so bad he spills the lube. Always gentle until Lance goads him, sucking kisses up Lance's cock as he does, pressing a thumb to that spot under his balls that makes sparks go off behind Lance's eyes, laving his tongue over the precum beaded at the tip of Lance's cock. Patience yields focus; Lance has never felt more conflicted about those words than when Shiro's prepping him.

He moans with every brutal thrust now, dribbling a steady stream of pre onto his chest; spurting more as Shiro pulls out all the way just to slam home again, groaning as Lance slick insides seize around him, hot and tight. 

Lance's fingers skirt his cock, and Shiro snarls, smacking them away; again when Lance tests his attention. Lance lets out a sob, shaking his head, and when Shiro smacks at them again he grabs his hand, pulls it down to where Shiro's cock is piercing him, “Harder,” He moans, splaying their fingers against his soaked hole, spreading it wider, sobbing at wide Shiro's girth has made him stretch. He's so big, it's so much, it's almost, almost enough “Harder, please, Shiro, fuck—”

Shiro's hand's find his hips, pull him up until only his shoulders press into the mattress, snapping into him with unrelenting strength, until all Lance can do is shout with each thrust, spreading himself wider with shaking fingers, so close, so fucking close--

Heat floods inside him, all at once, and the pulse of it sends Lance over too, white-hot and perfect. He can hear himself shouting, the raw scratch of his overtaxed throat, but his ears ring so loud can can't parse any words. His insides squeeze, fluttering around Shiro as his hips flex, short choppy thrusts that grind him against Lance's rim and fingers, a final spurt of come splatters down his chest as Shiro shudders. 

He lets Lance's hips fall, drops Lance's legs to his waist so he can lean forward, cover Lance's body with his own. 

“Oh, fuck,” Lance groans as they catch their breath. He winces, swallows against the sting in his throat. His sticky fingers find Shiro's fringe, comb it out of his sweaty face, “Guess I'll have to save the rest of my secrets for special occasions, huh?” 

Shiro's cock twitches inside him and he groans, burying his face in Lance's chest. 

 

**

 

Shiro kisses him, rough and desperate, lips cold and grip too tight; the horror of battle still roaring in their veins. “I thought I lost you.” He whispers, hollowed out, “When I heard what happened, I—” 

“I’m here,” Lance whispers, to Shiro, to himself; he’s shaking, shivering all over, the adrenaline only lasted long enough to get them through. If Lance had—if Allura hadn't, “I'm here, I'm here, fuck, I—" 

“I know.” Shiro says, because he does. More than anyone, Shiro knows that razors edge.“I’ve got you. Come here.” 

 

**

 

Lance wakes in the dead of night, pulse pounding, hiccuping for breath. He’s drenched in sweat, lightheaded, he can’t get enough air. Something brushes his forehead and he flinches, pulling back with a sharp cry, but it’s Shiro, dry lips against his temple, murmuring a sleepy assurance. Lance hisses out a sob, trying to keep quiet—he’d woken him, and Shiro needs all the sleep he can get—but Shiro’s bulk is shifting against him, slow and easy, creating space is Lance wants it, a path to retreat. 

Lance shudders, shakes his head, paws blindly at Shiro’s shoulder until Shiro pulls him back in, lets him soak his sleep shirt in tears as he breathes his way through. Lets Shiro’s voice soothe him, talk him through, until the bright spots in his vision fade and he can feel the thrum and pull of his lungs, the ache in them, another to add to the tally. “Sorry,” he mumbles, exhausted, crackling. 

Shiro hums, presses another kiss to his forehead, “I’ve got you. You’re here, you’re alive, and I won’t let you go.” 

Lance chokes on a laugh, watery, “I bet you tell that to all the guys that wake you up at half past ass.” 

He can feel Shiro’s smile, feather light on his temple, “Only the really pretty ones.” 

Lance hiccups, presses his face into Shiro’s chest, “I am pretty.” 

“You are.” Shiro agrees, drawls out the syllables like some TV Texan, “The prettiest darn cowboy ever did see.” 

“God,” Lance moans, shoves at his shoulder, “that is the worst Texan accent I’ve ever heard, and I’ve gotten Keith to—” Lance is on his back before he can finish, wide-eyed as Shiro looms above him, framed by the darkness of his room, the lines of him fuzzy, gaze sharp. 

Lance watches Shiro swallow, the bob of his Adam’s apple. The bed shifts, Shiro's fingers brush against his cheek.

“I'm proud of you.” 

Lance blinks, feels himself flush with warmth, his heartbeat flutter in his chest.

“You did the right thing. You protected Allura, you helped save the planet.” 

“We all did, Shiro, if it wasn't for Hunk--” 

“Hunk's not the one who died to save someone else this time.” Shiro tells him, hoarse, “You—all this time you've been fighting, for everyone, for home. I want you—I've wanted you to know. That that's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.” His hand finds Lance's, brings it to his lips, “You're beautiful, Lance.” 

Lance stares at him, mouth dry, heart in his throat. 

“Wow.” He croaks, 

Shiro grins at him, “You know, you say that a lot.” 

Lance hiccups a laugh, “It's kind of the only word to describe you, honestly.”

Shiro chuckles, runs a thumb over Lance's lip, “When this is over...”

Lance looks up at him, his heart squeezes at the soft look in his eyes, “Yeah?” 

“When this is over, I want to take you home.” 

Lance's breath catches, bursts in his chest. He catches Shiro's face in his hands, pulls him close. 

“Yeah,” Lance murmurs, voice cracking, tears threatening to spill over, “Together.”

 

**

 

Keith comes back, they kick Lotor's ass, explode the castle of lions to save the universe, but all Lance sees is Shiro's body on the hard earth, the hole where is arm should be, Keith's spitting, knife-sharp words telling them Shiro's dead. Has been for the last year, stuck in the black lion and shouting for help. 

He sees Shiro calling out to him, hazy and echoing, trying to shout to him through the void. 

He hears the roar of Shiro's determination, his desperation as he fights against something clawing through his mind.

He feels Shiro's lips on his, the warm drape of his arms around his shoulders, the soft huff of his laugh when Lance lands a punchline at just the right moment to make it count. The way his body felt against his; his heated gaze, what he whispered to him, that night, framed by starlight. The look in his eyes as he promised to bring him home. 

There's a dull crack in his chest; something breaks. His stomach crawls into his throat. 

Shiro in front of him, hollowed and broken. 

Shiro in the Black Lion, shouting for him to listen.

What had he done?


	2. Eddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the delay in releasing this chapter. These past few months have been a whirlwind of activity for me (I moved into my own place and basically had to replace a whole chuck of my car as well as a myriad of basically everything else real-life wise) and this chapter has been one of the most difficult for me creatively. It was very important to me to test myself, as well as try to reconcile Shiro and Kuron's relationship and try to give Kuron a place of his own in the story. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy.

When the cockpit of the Black Lion is dimmed for their rest, when Keith dozes nearby and Krolia keeps watch, when all that lays before them is the vastness of space, and the quiet of eternal night, the memories come for him.

The pound of his pulse in his ears, the horror at realizing he was captured again, his need, overwhelming, to find a way out. To get back to them. They _need_ him, his team, the only crew he has left to protect.

The sensation of choking on frozen water, the deep thunder of his ribs cracking under the weight of the monstrous creature's limbs, the sick, sinking horror that he'll never, ever make it to them. That he'll die here, on an unknown planet, without saving anyone.

The feel of metal beneath his fingers, the gratitude, as he flung himself back into space.

The sound of Keith's voice, delighted and relieved to tears. The peace it brought him, to be home. 

He remembers Keith's growing absence, a hot brand of frustration tinged with guilt, hollow pride as Keith chooses the Blades over their team, the looks on the team's faces as Keith walks away. 

He can feel the silence of the Black Lion. The the quiet, pooling horror as it remained unmovable, deaf to the shouts of his team, his need to help them. The wrench of relief as it came to life beneath him. The fear this acquiescence was begrudging, that each time after would fail. 

The nagging sense of discord, of not feeling right, the spark of hot anger when others questioned his orders, Keith had chosen to leave and now everyone thought they could provide their own input, as if the chain of command didn't matter, as if Shiro wasn't in charge--why wouldn't anyone listen to him? Why was this so hard?

He remembers nights on the command deck, staring up at the stars. The warmth of someone next to him, the heady calm of companionship, of someone seeing something in him other than leader or paladin of Voltron; someone who offered him comfort and a scrap of peace in the depth of unfathomable, war-ravaged space.

He knows the feeling of Lance's lips on his, his warmth, that soft smile reserved just for him; glinting in the faintest light from the stars, leaning toward him again like he isn't yet finished.

The look on Keith's face as he raised his sword to strike him down. 

The sound of a promise breaking; a future before him falling to ash. 

Shiro remembers every piece of it, every scrap; each one a testament to the life lived by the Shiro between his death and return. The one who took his place, made a life from the framework Shiro left. A man who never knew he was anything else, who died with only the horror of what he'd become. 

He remembers who he was before, and what has been given to him now. A body, a memory, a life. To try again with what he has been given. To keep them safe. To save the universe. To bring them home.

Shiro opens his eyes, looks to the scatter of unnamed stars ahead, and wonders how much he has left. 

 

******

 

_Shiro doesn't expect Lance to be waiting for him. He'd expected the other man to get spooked, feel awkward, seek some other quiet place to tick the night away, because Shiro is used to being treated like someone to avoid. Someone who's presence is to be respected and, as much as it chagrins him to see, made way for. He doesn't expect to see the younger man turn to look at him, wrapped in a blanket like a cape, or one folded next to him, invitation clear._

_He definitely doesn't expect the mischievous look on Lance's face, and his come closer gesture._

_It isn't until he join Lance that he realizes there's something in his lap, silver foil glints in the starlight and it takes Shiro a moment to realize what it is._

_“Is that chocolate?” He asks in disbelief. Lance grins at him, cracks another piece off and pops it into his mouth. Shiro can't believe he's managed to hide it from the rest of them until now. He wonders what Lance would ask him for in exchange for a bite. “How did you get that?”_

_Lance licks his lips and Shiro follows the gesture, almost startles when Lance shows his teeth.“I've got my ways and I heard some guy's been missing out for a long time. Want some?”_

_“Yes,” Shiro says, because it's chocolate, and Shiro hasn't had a taste of it in three years, “please.”_

_It's good, creamy, and Shiro savors it for a long moment before he swallows, licks his lips when it's over. Lance hands him another before he can ask and Shiro smiles his thanks as he bites into that piece too._

_“Sometimes you have to treat yourself,” Lance tells him, it sounds almost like sage advice. Lance winks at him when Shiro gives him a look._

_“Are you going to tell me the secret of your ways?” He asks, because he's curious, because he wants to know more. About secret chocolate stashes. Maybe a little more about blue paladins with sparkling eyes._

_“Hmm,” Lance taps a finger to his lips, considering. “Not yet.”_

 

******

 

Shiro breathes, soft and steady, counting them out as the team grumbles and settles on the floor of their cell, their nervousness dampened by each others presence, one he does his best to take comfort in, too. It helps to have the wall at his back and he leans on it as he adjust his footing; finding his center of balance again as the cuff circling his wrist hums with quiet energy. 

It's almost comical, in a way, that this keeps happening.

He breathes and piece by piece the world rights itself again. His teammates before him come into focus, their jibes and bickering familiar, soothing to him in their ease. His team hasn't given up yet. There's still hope fierce inside them.

By the time Shiro's back to himself, they too have calmed; Lance's initial outbursts dampened by pain and frustration, his fruitless efforts brought to a halt by Krolia's admonishments until his wiry frame drooped in defeat. He settles against the wall next to Shiro as the rest of the team begins to murmur, discussing the odds of Coran's rescue efforts versus their own. Keith and Krolia favor a direct, decisive approach. 

Shiro listens, offers a comment or two on some of the plans they suggest, but Krolia has a better eye for ships outside of Galran make and it is her observations they plan to rely on. His gaze finds Lance in a free moment; Lance is frowning at the floor, shifting his weight. 

“Everything all right?” Shiro asks, quiet, giving him a once over as Lance rolls his shoulders. 

Lance looks at him, smiles, bright and easy. Something familiar trips in Shiro's stomach. “Yeah, man, nothing to worry about. Are you?” 

Shiro blinks; considers for a moment. “Getting beamed up onto a ship wasn't exactly in my plans today, but at least I can't say space isn't like Star Trek anymore.”

Lance barks a laugh, grinning when Keith glares at him for it, “Every time I think I've figured you out, you come out with something new.” 

Something flickers over Lance's face after the words escape him, something like horror and hurt and another entirely unnameable, before it's smoothed away by Lance's easy smile, a chuckle as he bumps Shiro's shoulder, “Seriously though, are you doing all right?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, automatic, his throat feels dry; a cold knot lodged into his throat. “Yeah, Lance, I'm fine. But are you sure--” 

Something clangs against the door of their cell and the atmosphere deadens, their eyes locked to the sound of shifting gears, the hiss of the door sliding up.

 

******

 

_Lance is laughing, sharp and stuttering through Shiro's kisses, stumbling back as Shiro boxes him in against Red's foreleg, expression dark but pleased. He leans forward for another, slow and easy until Lance is breathless, flushed and pink to his ears._

_“If I'd known nicknames would work on you, I'd have started a lot sooner, Sharpshot.” Shiro murmurs, ducks his head down for another._

_Lance grins at him, runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Shiro follows it, avid. “I like earning them more.”_

_There's a click as Shiro's belt unclips. He blinks; sucks in a breath as Lance drops to his knees._

 

******

 

Distress signals always put Shiro on edge. He knows the odds, knows that more often than not they're real people in real distress, but every rule has its exception and every time Shiro hedges his bets against his gut. 

This one. This one has his teeth on edge. Something just isn't right. But Krolia is insisting and Keith is irreverent with her. They'll go. 

And maybe just this once his gut will be wrong.

It isn't, and they make it through by the skin of their teeth; Allura's powers and the team's determination the only things left intact. Pidge and Allura take to assessing Kolivan's status, running rudimentary diagnostics as Keith and Krolia prepare him for transport to the lions. Shiro stands aside to watch them do it, clenching and unclenching his fist, planting his feet against the rock floor, the memory of Macidus' magic freezing them in place singing in his bones, the memories of the last time that happened, the sense that he was trapped, that he couldn't stop them from taking him, from hurting him threatening to swallow him whole. There's not enough space and too many people, too many places a druid can hide. One dead isn't enough, all of them should be, they can't have him again--

Someone steps into his vision and he startles, taking a reflexive step back. 

It's Lance, brow furrowed, looking him over as he powers down his bayard, the gun retracting to a handle a gleam of white light. “Shiro, you okay there, buddy?” He asks, reaching for his shoulder, concern in every feature. Shiro nods before he can help it, he's fine, really, just give him a moment—but Lance is already turning to Hunk, mentioning something about fresh air and checking the lions before looping an arm around Shiro's shoulder and guiding him out. 

“Let's get out of here, I've had enough of evil masterminds and their freaky cave lairs. I bet Red's missing me like one tenth as much as I am her by now.” He steers them through the myriad of tunnels, his confidence so clear that Shiro can't help but find comfort in it, narrating their travels as they pass. 

By the time they reach the exit he's managed a chuckle, Lance's opinions on the former druid's collection preferences well pronounced and colorfully mocked. It's in that moment, where the both of them are squinting in the sunlight, where Shiro glances at Lance and sees him looking back, something quiet and haunted in his gaze, the smile faded as his blue eyes flick over his features, searching. 

And in that moment Shiro feels a thousand questions crowd his throat, a hundred assurances on his tongue. He wants to sooth that furrowed look away and tell Lance it's all going to be all right, that he they'll get through it, whatever it takes. But Lance is pulling away from him, releasing him like an ending, stepping back.

“Man,” He groans, hands pressed to his back, spine curving at the pressure, “First thing I'm gonna do when I get back is ask my sister to break my back in half.” He rolls his head on his shoulders, heaving another sigh, “What I wouldn't give for a seven hour bath right now.” 

He turns to Shiro then, grinning, and its the memories of how Lance was before that lets Shiro see the strain around his eyes, the way his shoulders have grown stiff even as his posture feigns ease, “C'mon, let's see if we can find where Hunk's stashed his secret snack hoard. I know he's got some.”

Shiro blinks, frowns at the implication, “I don't think--” but Lance has already clapped a hand to his shoulder and strode past, his desire to flee whatever had been in that moment so apparent Shiro almost feels slapped by it. 

Lance clambers down the hill ahead of him, pace sure and rapid, through the streets and toward the hazy bulk of the lions, but Shiro feels his feet rooted to the ground, trapped by the memory of Lance's gaze, the ache in his chest from it. 

He stays where he is, and watches as Lance walks away.

 

******

 

_Pain wraps around his skull, thundering and familiar, the pound of it in time to his heartbeat; hammer to anvil again and again until he stumbles, catches himself on too-smooth walls, tries not to spill everything in his stomach as the world around him careens against itself, too loud too much stop it—stOP--_

_There's a hand to his shoulder, his forehead; a murmur loud enough to tear him in two. He flinches; bares teeth, raises his arm to fend the pain off._

_Then there's a bed beneath him, warming wet cloth against his face. He pulls it off with careful fingers, squinting against the light. Fingers catch his own, breath fans across his forehead. He blinks and Lance is leaning over him, frowning in concern._

_“Careful,” he murmurs, almost too low to hear. The room is dark around them, Lance's features soft and fuzzy at the edges, blue eyes deep as the ocean; Shiro could fall into them, “how's your head? One to ten.”_

_“Four,” Shiro croaks, his throat feels like swallowed glass. “How…?”_

_“Saw you in the hall,” Lance whispers back, he wipes at the water against Shiro's forehead, smoothes back his tuft of white hair, “Get some rest. I've got you covered.” There’s a data pad on the floor, the faint glow of it burning, and Shiro grasps at his bed frame, moves to lever himself up, “I need to--"_

_“Shiro.” Lance says and he pauses, feels himself begin to shake. Lance puts a hand to his chest, pushes him back down with careful ease, “We'll review it when I'm done.”_

_Shiro sighs in withered acceptance, and lets himself drift._

 

******

 

Shiro lays on the thin mattress, exhausted; eyes burning, hours wasted in trying to sleep but never managing to; the stillness of a sterile living quarters punctuated by Pidge's half-formed mumbles, her heavy sighs. He looks over to her, at the haphazard flail of her limbs, envious of her comfort. What he would give for half a night's rest. What he would give for just an hour of rest, just a small respite. But when he closes his eyes he sees a purple sky, the death roar of a tyrant, the enormity of time stretched before him, alone in the abyss. 

He sits up with difficulty, careful to be quiet and glances out of Green's cockpit to take a look at the sky. 

In the comfort of those thousands of lights, Red has taken point, her silhouette bright against the stars. 

A weight knocks through Shiro's chest at the sight. His skin prickles all over; chasing a phantom warmth, the ghost of a familiar smile. It makes his breath falter, watching the red lion coast before them. There's an itch in him to flip open the comm and ask Lance for his status just to hear his voice. 

He's on his feet before he realizes, stepping toward the overhead panel, uncaring of Pidge's ever present mess. He doesn't know what he wants in this moment. Company? Familiarity? The comfort of knowing Lance is ahead of him, watching out for him, a companion to the hollowed out cavern in his chest?

He halts, hand on the back of the cockpit chair, his intentions faltering, words falling to ash in his throat. What could he say? What does he want to? That he remembers them? That he misses him? His voice, his smile. That look of quiet wonder whenever Lance thought he couldn't see; the scent of him, clean and male; his heavy limbs slung haphazard over Shiro's shoulders, his calloused fingers rubbing circles into his temples? 

That he knows sounds Lance makes; the flushed heat of his skin, how he looks at him like he's the world when Shiro swallows him whole?

He doesn't love Lance. He doesn't. The Lance he knows was brash and foolhardy, too eager for attention and too determined to find it. Stumbling like a puppy on too big paws to please him, wanting attention and care and time. Shiro had seen it, had known what he'd needed, but Lance wasn't the only one on the team and Shiro had to divide his time as necessary. He'd done his best to be a support, but he wasn't a saint and after, well, after Zarkon there wasn't much else he could do. 

But he'd had potential, keen eyes and sharper intuition; his aptitude for strategy one more thing to look out for, to coax into finer shape. Keith was a leader, his determination and force of will a pillar against the fear of battle and unknown; a solid base for the team to stand on. Lance was made for strategy, for diplomacy. His attention to his teammates, the ease with how he interacted with others, he could be so much more than the goof, the class clown for entertainment. Given the chance he could be a strategist to be feared, an ambassador to societies and peoples they hadn't yet encountered. 

That's the Lance Shiro remembers, the one Shiro knows, but now there's so much else of him too. A year of memory and knowledge slotted into place, like he had never left. How Lance's absurdity comes from his need to please. How he hates to be made fun of, but knows no other way for attention. How much it hurts him to be forgotten, pushed aside and ignored in favor of something else, how he doesn't think he matters. 

He knows Lance only wants to bring joy, to help, to be a part of something bigger. He'll give everything of himself, put himself in mortal danger, if it means a chance at helping others. He knows that what Lance needs is someone to care for him, unconditionally, to be there, the steady rock for him to rest on, the . 

He knows that there was someone who did. 

“Shiro?” Comes a sleepy mumble, and he goes cold all over, caught.

“Something up?” Pidge yawns, blinking at him, bleary-eyed. She's never been a morning person, not without a scowl, may she'll let this go.

Shiro shakes his head, “No, nothing important.” He hopes that's enough.

She looks at him, considering. Frowns.

“What?” Shiro asks, bewildered, “It isn't--” 

“I didn't notice before,” Pidge says, looking at him, “But you're different.” 

Shiro stares at her, half-wanting to ask, half afraid of what it could bring. 

“What do you mean?” He says, hushed, like a secret. It feels like a safe question. It feels like he's on the edge of a cliff.

Pidge looks at him, long and slow. Matt used to look at him like that, when he was trying to decide whether telling him was worth more than the fun of watching him find his plans as they exploded in front of them both, “I mean that it's not just your hair and that whole no-arm thing you have going on that tells me you're a different guy. It's obvious, looking back on it.” 

“Tell me how,” He says, feels a crack start to split in the dam of silence they've all put up. That great big wall they've all got, pretending nothing's changed, like his coming back from the dead was just another quirk of being in space. But they're different, his team, and he didn't need to watch them on the Astral Plane to know it. He wants to know, needs to; what changed, what broke, what happened between them and the man that took his place; set roots inside all of them they so desperately try to choke out. What did you see him as? What was he to you? What am I to you, now?

Pidge sighs, tucks a tuft of her unruly hair behind he ear and straightens to sit more comfortably. 

“It's not easy to explain,” She looks at him, lifts a shoulder in a shrug, “I mean, the Galra did a really good job. Our scans didn't find anything at all, but--” She grimaces, “He was different. He didn't like questions. He wasn't as...nice, I guess. Like with you, you would listen if we had a concern or something, but that Shiro—and that's so weird to say, let me tell you—he was more concerned with the war. He wanted it done his way, and he wasn't really interested in other people's suggestions.” She lifts a shoulder, looking uncomfortable, “I don't know. It was kind of subtle, you know? But he was ready to trust Lotor really quickly, he even handed him Black's bayard—” She nods at Shiro's stricken look, “Right, exactly, and that didn't make sense at all, but. Yeah. He was always so sure of himself.” 

“Did he...did he try to comprise missions?” Shiro asks, half caught in the memories, to try to remember if that were true, “Did he hurt you?” 

“No, no, not at all.” And Pidge is adamant, shaking her head, “I don't think he ever wanted to hurt us. He was a good guy. He just...well, I thought you were dealing with a lot of stuff, you know? With Keith leaving and then Lotor trying to kill us and then joining us and then trying to use us to recreate the Altean civilization before going totally crazy, I mean. There was a lot going on for a long time. We were all dealing with stuff, you know?”

She sighs, twists her fingers in her lap, “You—he was doing better in the last few months. I did notice that. I mean, things were getting pretty crazy, what with the Galra Empire falling to pieces and starting crap and Allura going into a space void and coming out with magic powers, and Lotor trying to be cool with it but you know he was definitely pissed--but like, he'd listen sometimes. Shiro, I mean. The other one. He'd try to, I think. I mean, it's not like we were blind, he and Lance definitely had something going on there and I guess maybe it was helping somehow? But--” 

Pidge pauses, slaps a hand over her mouth like she's just spilled a dirty secret. Shiro tries not to laugh at the absurdity of it. “Shit, should I say that? Like, I get that you two—that they were trying to keep it secret but they were...not really good at that.” 

“Not good at it?” Shiro repeats, because the absurdity is almost laughable. That in a ship of at most eight people, the two of them had thought they'd been subtle, and the memory that he'd believed that made him want to groan in exasperation.

Pidge raises her hands in triumph, “I know, right? Like, I wasn't going to check the access logs every morning and see you two logging into the deck and back out four hours later, like come on!” 

Shiro coughs, choking on a laugh, and tries to rein himself in, “And did you catch us—them doing anything else?” 

Pidge looks at him, then scrunches her nose, “I wasn't about to ask, dude. What you two got up to was your own thing or whatever. I had bigger fish to fry.” 

Shiro coughs again, the back of his neck burning with embarrassment as Pidge squints at him again, assessing. 

“How much do you remember?” She asks, suddenly, pointedly, gaze sharp despite her glasses tucked just out of reach.

Shiro pauses, looks at her. She waits, quirks a brow as the moment stretches. 

He swallows, sighs. Her resemblance to Matt has always been uncanny, just like Shiro's inability to lie to the both of them when confronted, “Enough of it,” He says, “Everything, I think.”

“Well,” She says, eyes widening. “Shit.”

 

******

 

_“Fuck,” Shiro whispers into Lance's throat, “Fuck, fuck,” He feels Lance's hum more than hears it, but the delight in his voice is poignant, almost as overwhelming as the way Lance's hip cant into his, sparks cascading inside him as it presses his cock deeper, so close to the sweet spot Lance has teased all night._

_“That's the idea,” Lance croons against his forehead, pressing a kiss to his temple, adjusting his grip on the back of Shiro's neck. Shiro gasps as Lance's back bows away from him a moment later, each movement between them enormous, nerves alight and shattering at every touch. It's been so long since Shiro's felt so full, insides fluttering around Lance until the slim man groans from it, snaps his hips into Shiro's tight, wet heat hard enough that Shiro cries out._

_“Can I?” Lance gasps out, flushed all over, gaze half-lidded as his brows crease with tension, caged inside Shiro's loose hold._

_“Yes,” Shiro pants, sobs as Lance moves, grinding into him, in slow, tight rolls of his hips, only pull out at the moment Shiro thinks he could possibly come just from that alone. He keens as Lance leaves him, hole clenching against Lance's tip, wanting more, again, more, more, please, Lance--_

_Stars burst in his vision as Lance sinks home again, setting a pace that Shiro arches to meet with equal need, sharp and quick and perfect; punctuated by long slow rolls of their hips, familiar and new all at once, spiraling higher, coiling tighter._

_Lance's teeth mark a path up his throat. Shiro's palms set themselves to Lance's hips, guiding him, encouraging; this, this way, yes, fuck, please. Again, again, just like that, god, you feel so good inside, it's too much, I can't, I can't--_

 

******

 

Passing Pluto isn't quite _deja vu_ , but it certainly tries to be, the small planet pinpricking behind them as Voltron flings them farther into the solar system. Pidge growls in frustration at their pace, cautious at break-neck speed, Keith's orders firm and uncompromising. The comm line between Earth and Voltron has been cut for security reasons, but Shiro can see the way Pidge's fingers hover over the controls to the open line, her need to connect with them warring with the need to keep quiet and undetectable. The knowledge that the Galra have found Earth, have taken it in conquest, has sunk deep into each of them; their tempers short at the implications, the fear of what they might see of the world they've fought so long to come back to riding them as the lions soar home.

Shiro grips the back of Pidge's seat as they sling themselves around an asteroid, grits his teeth, steadies himself, and prays to whatever being may be watching all of this happen to have some mercy on the people of Earth, because the Galra won't. 

And with all their training, with all the battles and trials they've been through, Shiro still isn't sure if they can handle that.

 

******

 

_“I miss Blue.” Lance tells him, quiet, raw, gaze fixed above them at the sea of stars; side by side on the command deck. Shiro's back aches, his knees. Another long day scraping out of the empire's grasp, the hum of Voltron’s power still vibrating across their synapses; bruised inside and out from the power they channel every day._

_Shiro nods, laces their fingers together, warmth to warmth._

_Lance's breath shudders out. “I miss when this was just an adventure.”_

 

******

 

They make it home, but there isn't much left to it. The destruction wrought by the Galra is apparent with every step; the shattered windows, the crumpled cars. A thriving city turned hollowed out shell, its residents captured, fled, or worse. Lance takes point as they enter the city, shoulders tense, what little words he offers short and curt, but his shots ring true, shattering each globe of Galran tech as they enter his sight lines. They hold their ground until reinforcements arrive, pile tight into two tanks and race back to where it all began. 

The team pours from the vehicles, Pidge bursting through the doors to reach her mother, Lance collapsing into the arms of his family, home at last and overcome with it, surrounded by the people he's spent so much time fighting to return to. Shiro watches him, feels something in his chest loosen, a relief too deep to name. He tries not to look for Adam, he wouldn't be here, he'd be busy with the supplies, or testing a new piloting system. But even as he greets Iverson, he searches every face for him, wondering where he could be. It's been almost three years—even Adam couldn't hold a grudge that long, he has to be somewhere.

It's hours after they've briefed the Garrison, night has long since fallen when Shiro finally relents, asks Iverson where Adam was assigned, if they could take a moment just to see him. The look on Iverson's face makes Shiro's skin prickle, a dead weight knocks in his chest as Iverson shakes his head, pulling his cap down low. 

“I'm sorry, Shiro.” He says. 

The room is bright, well lit from above, each name carved into the towering stone with machine precision, their faces etched beside it. There are so many. 

It takes him hardly any time at all to find him. 

“It was the first attack,” Iverson says, hushed. Shiro reaches out. Traces a letter, “Commander Holt tried to warn us, but we underestimated their forces. He was in the first squad.”

“I see.” Shiro says, Adam's name blurs in front of him, “Thank you, Iverson.” 

He takes a shivering breath, sets his palm against the stone, feels his body shudder with the weight. “I'd---I'd like a moment. If I can.”

Iverson doesn't say anything, but Shiro senses his departure, is grateful for it. 

He waits until the door closes to fall to his knees.

 

******

 

_“Tell me about home,” Lance says, and when he looks at Shiro there's a softness in him, a hope. “Is there anything you miss about it? Did you always want to go to space?”_

_Shiro thinks of it; of the empty house, the old food cartons in the trash and the hollow ache in his gut._

_How dark the nights were; how easily he could see the stars outside, brilliant and beautiful._

_He remembers the first book he found of them, ancient and dusty, pulled from the local thrift store and bought with what pennies he had left. The stack that grew slowly, each page worn soft, until he knew them all by heart. Could pick each one out of the sky, track their courses by heart._

_The taste of blood in his mouth, his aching knuckles and throbbing knee; the shouts of the other boys; the lump lodged in his throat at the shredded pages at his feet._

_The feel of his first uniform, sharp and crisp, how the first breeze felt on his shorn head._

_A caramel-skinned young man, bumping shoulders with him, asking his name. The delight in his eyes when they shared class rosters._

_He remembers the doctor's hands, nails short but painted blue, the sound of her voice as she told him of his body's betrayal. Of what to expect. How much time he could hope to have left._

_The look on Adam's face when he chose the mission over their life. When he chose his dream over a life wasted away._

_He thinks of the feeling of Black's controls in his grip, the joyous shouts of planets freed from Galran control; the warmth of Lance's shoulder against his own. The memory of their kiss._

_Shiro looks out the command deck's main window at the sea of unfamiliar stars before him. He doesn't know any of their names yet._

_“There's nothing like space, Lance. There's no place I'd rather be.”_

 

******

 

Shiro stares at the arm presented to him, Allura's gift; built to give her peace and him comfort. He listens as Sam explains his intentions, swallows down the fear and half-formed memories of what the Galra did to him to make him need this, tries to think of the benefits—balance will be nice. Being able to get a shirt on within half an hour. Small things. Manageable things. He doesn't think about white walls and the suits Sam and his assistant are wearing. Doesn't think about what could go wrong. He breathes. Listens. Focus. 

Sam gives the order and the arm comes to life. Shiro stares at it, concentrates, pulls it to him. He thinks _close_. The fingers obey. Easy, simple, and for just a moment, Shiro thinks this might end okay.

 

******

 

_Agony. Agony screaming through his veins, nerves splitting, tendons snapping; adrenaline careening through him, fear spiking until all he can hear, can feel is the shredding of his soul; everything he knows warping in his hands. Give in, give in, you're mine now, **give in!** No! No, he won't he won't, he won't leave them, leave this, they are his! To protect, to keep, he found them himself, he won't let it go! _

_Lance. Lance in his sight, grounding. The look on his face, each word from his mouth another pound of the sledgehammer into the spike in his skull, but an anchor all the same. He won't hurt him. He can't. He'll fight it. Fight it like every other time. He won't listen. He won't, not ever, so please. Please, please don't leave me, I don't want to go, I love you, I want to find home with you, please let me be free, let me be happy just once--_

 

******

 

They let Shiro rest for a few hours after it's over and he is grateful for it. Left to himself in the room, he takes that time to breathe, to check himself over, take that pain and memory and force it into something he can contain. And when that's done, as much as it can be, he looks at his arm and he sets to work. 

The range on it is surprising, within the hour Shiro can push it some distance, to pick up and carry objects. He can't quite feel what he's picking up, the sensitivity dulls with distance, but he knows the weight of an object, can adjust his grip from afar. In a way, it's comforting to have that control, to have an arm again that has no connection to the horrors he's seen, given freely by a dear friend, but in another it reminds him of the Galra who first attacked them, his massive arm slamming into him. The memory of his ribs cracking, air punched out of his lungs; the desperation as he fought keep them safe, to keep the Galra out of the castle for one more minute, to draw his attention so he wouldn't focus on Lance's prone form--

There's a knock on the door and Shiro blinks, startled from the memory. He unclenches his robotic hand and sets it down at his side as the door opens, Lance's head peeking through, lighting up when he sees Shiro on the bed.

“Hey buddy,” He says, offering a smile, helmet tucked under his arm as he steps forward into the room, “You doing all right?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, offering a rueful smile, “Sorry to make everyone worry.”

“Dude, come on, don't apologize. It's not your fault.” Lance shakes his head, frowning at him, “Pretty much nothing is your fault, dude. The universe needs to let up a bit.”

Shiro laughs, scrubs a hand up his neck and startles when he realizes it's the robotic hand that does it, “I don't know if we should tempt it anymore just yet.” 

Lance grins at him, mischief all over his features, “Sure we do, we just gotta sweet talk it a little into giving us a chance and I think we'll start by getting Hunk's family back.” 

Shiro looks at him, bemused at the idea, at Lance's surety in the face of all the odds against him. It's a comfort, in Lance's way. How no matter how grim things might get, Lance believes in their chance most of all. Lance's grin widens just a moment, before he seems to snap back to himself.

“Oh, right, just a sec,” He adjusts his grip on his helmet, digs inside it for just a moment, then pulls something out of it. Something small wrapped in brown plastic. 

“Thought you might like this before we head off.” He says, handing it to Shiro, who stares at it in disbelief. 

“Where did you get this?” He asks, turning the package over. The phrase Milky Way is stamped in green letters up the side.

“A master never reveals his secrets,” Lance chides, grinning at Shiro's admonishing look. “I've got my ways.” 

“One day I'm going to figure out how you do this.” He says. Lance winks at him, presses a finger to his lips.

Something chimes on Lance's wrist, the screen popping to life as Lance brings it up. It's an alert for the mission, a timer counting down. 

“Oops,” Lance says, cocking his head, “Looks like it's time to get the party started.” 

 

“Lance!” He calls as the younger man strides through the doorway, knowing he should follow, be by his side as they test fate once more time, “Good luck!” 

Lance looks back at him, grinning, “Tell me that when I get back!” 

 

******

 

_The Astral Plane stretches before him, infinite against a horizon of innumerable stars. Shiro watches time skip to its own measure here, each moment a lifetime, a month in a blink. Sometimes he wonders if this is what death truly is, others he feels the heavy presence at his back, the knowledge that he isn't alone, that this perhaps, may be only a stop on the path._

_He sinks himself into a personal routine, finding comfort in the memory of it, though on this plane he can't feel fatigue, or even a need to breathe. He moves, he exercises, sometimes he explores, though it's difficult to tell when nothing changes no matter how far he walks._

_He's resting in that moment, letting the stillness of the plane sink into him, when he appears._

_They look alike, Shiro realizes, though the absurdity of the thought isn't lost on him; this man is his clone, after all. The other man stares at him, ragged and worn, hollow-eyed from everything he's seen, what he's done. The-man-who-is-not-him looks at Shiro, looks down at his fading self, and slams his being against Shiro's own, ethereal grip vicious and mad in its intent._

_“Take care of them.” This man grits out. His eyes are fierce, wild in their determination. The scar on his face is a perfect mirror to Shiro's own, “You watch them and you keep them safe. Save the universe while you're at it. Make them pay for what they've done to us. Got it?” His grip tightens, the stars being to wink between them, the rest of his essence scattering, the motes of him spiraling out and out into the light as he presses into him, until all Shiro sees is the dark pupils of his eyes, the wavering glint in them, feels the crack in his voice as his face begins to hollow, motes of light and dark speckling, scattering into the night._

_“You make sure to bring him home for me. I promised him. You bring him home, and you keep him safe. After everything else, at least give me that.”_

 

******

 

The team chimes in as they board their lions, a steady stream of assurance that only partially assuages the tension in Shiro’s shoulders, the anxiety curdled in his gut. He knows them, knows how strong they are, how much they’ve grown. He couldn’t be prouder to see their triumphs, their strength. He knows them, trusts them, and so tamps down the anxiety curdling in his gut, waits those extra moments for Lance to check in. Finally, he asks for his position, this needs to go well, if Lance and Veronica can't get into position--

There’s a warning shout, the sound of metal tearing, tires shrieking, before the screams of both cut off. His mind catches on that single moment, the horror and fear in their voices, as the screen before them lights up with enemy markers. What can they do? They don't have any time! The MFE fighters have to get into position, the mission is already too far ahead to abort, the other paladins halfway around the world. The team shouts for him, Lance, call in, report, what's going on, your status now! Shiro's heartbeat thunders in his ears, adrenaline singing along a knifes edge of horror, waiting, straining, be okay, Lance, please, whatever it takes, just let him be okay. 

“Veronica!”

Relief breaks across him, only his training keeping him from staggering at the weight of it, cooling to ice as the sounds of fighting erupt from the comms, but he’s alive and Shiro grips that knowledge with vengeance. Lance is alive and he's fighting, comm erupting with the noise of battle, Lance's desperate attempts to keep them back. An eternity stretches, Shiro's heart in his throat, before Lance's comm from the Red Lion snaps to life and a moment later the room erupts in cheers. He's alive, everyone is alive, and now all that's left is to save Earth from complete annihilation. 

It's something they have experience with. It's something Shiro clings to as he watches his team fight for their lives, beacons of hope against the destruction of everything they are.

 

******

 

_Shiro traces the little figure in his hands, the rough cut of his nose, the shield at his back. The others have already disappeared to their quarters, Hunk and Pidge to their calculations, Princess Allura to another experiment with Prince Lotor, Coran and Shiro to their beds. Shiro looks at the piece in his hands and sets it carefully next to his companions, feeling content and at peace for the first time in weeks._

_Next time, he thinks; he wants to be a paladin again._

 

******

 

The ships comes to life beneath them, the crystal heart of the castle-ship glowing bright and true and for the first time in an age Shiro feels like they have a moment to breathe. It's taken, seconds later, when Coran calls him captain and the weight of that threatens to stagger him again with the surety of it, the trust placed in him. But he stands for it, accepts all it bears for him and commands the Atlas to launch.

 

******

 

_Pidge looks at him, nervous and hopeful, unsure of herself in this moment. Shiro smiles at her, knows just what she needs. “Go.” He tells her, “be great.”_

 

******

 

The Galran forces fall, one by one, to Voltron or the Atlas or the MFE fighters and with each smoking or in pieces, hobbled and dying, Shiro feels hope bloom in his chest until only Sendak's ship remains, the Atlas' hull tilts from damage and the Zaiforge cannon readings spike and they realize they don't have any more time. 

But Voltron responds readily, easily, their teamwork effortless; eager for the task. Their synchronicity is like breathing now and even as grim dread coils low in his gut his heart threatens to burst with pride for them. They're a team, strong and wise, more together than they ever were alone. They've grown so much together, fought together, lost and hurt and found strength in each other and now it's Shiro's turn to trust. To believe in them and the crew of the Atlas. To keep going to the end, and trust that Voltron will stop Sendak in time. 

And so he puts all of that, everything into those words; his pride, the hopes of the people, the trust that they will succeed and save the Earth. 

“Good luck, paladins.” _We'll hold the line until the end._

 

******

 

_Hunk his scrubs at his oil stained hands with a rough clothes, frowns as nothing seems to come off, ““I don't know, man, I just don't think it's right for me. Piloting a space lion? I'm an engineer! I make this stuff, I don't pilot it.”_

_“I understand,” Shiro says, because Hunk is wide-eyed, puttering around his work station, tidying and shining every tool for the third time, “All I'm asking is that you give it a try. I know it's a big step, but I know you can do this.” He smiles at the taller man, offers a hand, “And if it doesn't work out, we'll find another way.”_

 

******

 

It doesn't feel like and ending, nor a beginning, it feels like riding a cliff at break neck speed, it feels like his chest is being torn asunder, like Sendak's massive arms battering him into a ships hull. Sendak flings his claw toward him and Shiro roars as it slams into him, his tech-made arm scraping against the metal, the shriek of it deafening. They ride the dying ship together, unheeding of the danger, the knowledge that a sinking ship will always take its due. 

Sendak stands above him and for a moment, Shiro thinks of screaming crowds; the guttural roar of unnamed monsters, the throb of molten fire across his face. 

The sky darkens. The Black Lion roars.

Sendak falls.

 

******

 

_“I need to go,” Keith says, folded in on himself; he won't look Shiro in the eyes. The Blade of Marmora outfit suits him, Shiro fears he's never seen Keith look more at home._

_“All right.” Shiro says and Keith looks up, startled. Shiro quirks a smile, “What, did you think I'd be bullheaded enough to stop you?”_

_He clasps Keith's shoulder, squeezes, “I don't like that you're going and I don't think it's a good idea. The team needs you, Voltron needs you, but I think I know you well enough to see you're not going to stop until you find what you're looking for out there. And that you don't think Voltron can get you there.” He looks at him, wills him to listen just one more time, “Go. Find what you're looking for, but remember to come back. We need you here, Keith, you're a part of this team too. Don't forget that.”_

 

******

 

For a moment it must be over. Sendak's dead, his fleet destroyed. For one single moment, Shiro thinks they may be done. 

But the universe is cruel and sends another to bring them down. This one faster, stronger, terrifying in its power, the ease in which it forces the Lions back, buffets them away without any effort at all. When Voltron forms Shiro thinks they must have some chance—but the robeast hammers them again and again, until Voltron falters, collapses to its knees and two great swords sink into its chest. 

 

******

 

_“Is that what it always feels like? Connecting with the lions?” Allura asks him, wide-eyed and breathless, stumbling as she drops from the open mouth of the Blue Lion, letting Shiro catch her, let her find her feet. She looks at him with wonder, like she can finally see_

_“Yeah,” He tells her, because he knows; that feeling of being dropped in the middle of a star, overwhelming and grounding. Cradled in the presence of something benevolent and proud, “It's something, isn't it?”_

_Allura looks at him, her smile wide, “It's wonderful.”_

 

******

 

A black ball of violent energy grows outside the robeasts chest, all of the sensors are screaming inside the Atlas, but they have no time to evade and in a moment, it's too late. The black bolt of energy sears through the Atlas, wreaking havoc on their systems; a cacophony of screaming tech and confusion until Shiro's eardrums threaten to burst from it. He shouts an order, _Above! Get high enough to give cover fire!_ But the robeast volleys another blast before they can gain enough altitude and the black core sears through them, their shields shuddering, failing as the deck shudders from the impact, the integrity of the the ship begins to tear. 

“Iverson, what's the status on your fire power, we need to give Voltron cover!” Shiro roars, “Does anyone have eyes on the MFE fighters? On Voltron? Someone get us eyes on them, stat!” 

But there, below him, he can already see. See the two blades sunk back into Voltron chest. See the light in Voltron's eyes flicker, dull as the last of Voltron's power leaves them, sucked into the core of the robeast in thread of sick purple light.

 

******

 

_The mug clatters against its saucer. Shiro flinches, turns to look at Adam, hunched over his seat, “Takashi.” He starts. Shiro knows that tone, feels his annoyance begin to rise. “How important am I to you? Every drill every mission, I've been right there with you, but this is more than that. This is your life at stake.”_

_Shiro goes cold all over, “You know how much this means to me, Adam. It's worth the risk.” It's worth everything._

_“You've done enough, Takashi. You've broken every record there is to break. You have a place here, you have a home—you have me, why are you so determined to go when everyone is telling you not to?”_

_“Because this is what I've been living for!” Shiro shouts, fists clenched, throat raw, “This is what I've dreamed of all my life, it's something I need for myself, and I'm not giving up just because everyone tells me to.”_

_Adam stands abruptly and Shiro turns away; focuses on a section of the couch in front of him, traces the cushioned seam with his gaze._

_“I know I can't stop you,” Adam says, and the finality in his voice leaves Shiro cold, “But I won't go through this again. So if you decide to go? Don't expect me to be here when you get back.”_

_Adam passes him, walks away, each step a reverberation through Shiro's very core. It isn't the ending he wanted. It isn't what he'd imagined at all._

_“Takashi.” Adam says from the doorway. Shiro stares straight ahead, “Find what you're looking for.”_

 

******

 

The sensors are blaring warnings, Coran and Veronica are shouting at him, demanding orders, a route for escape as the robeast below them charges another attack. Shiro's mind races for a solution, something, anything, to keep the robeast at bay, to take the Atlas out of its path, to draw it away from Voltron and keep his team alive. His mind roils, he has to think, has to do something, what do they have, what can they do--

The command deck bursts with light beneath his fingers, a flash of pure blue power, alien, familiar; thundering into him with a heartbeat all it's own. He sees the small crystal, what's left of the castle of lions, and in that moment he sees the path ahead, the route he needs to take to see this to the end. 

Power thunders through him, a hurricane of light; exponential and infinite atoms splitting as the hull cracks apart; reforging itself, becoming so much more. 

“Paladins,” He calls as the earth quakes beneath their feet, the Atlas massive and magnificent, a tower against the dark. The castle's final gift, one more chance fight. “Are you there?”

 

******

 

_Fingers scrape up the back of his skull, scrubbing at the fine, sharp hairs on his neck. Shiro jolts at the sensation, turning to give the culprit a glare of mock-indignation. Lane grins at him, impish, then leans over to cast an assessing look at the star maps stretching before them. His fingers lace with Shiro's as they rest on the bulwark._

_“Who's next on the ass-kicking agenda, team leader?”_

 

******

 

When it's over; when they've won; the robeast defeated, its insides sent to be examined by the brightest minds they can find, after Shiro makes his speech to a crowd of thousands and Matt flies in with a fleet of haggard rebels, Shiro finally feels like something's ended. Done at last, a breath can be let out. The work isn't done and tomorrow there will be more, preparations and precautions, a sea of tasks to complete, but as he steps off the platform to a roar of applause in his wake, he just wants to see his team. 

He goes to them, one by one, waits as they reunite with their families, pausing at their doors. He's startled when they come to him instead, sweeping him into hugs, thanking him for keeping their children, their siblings safe, helping them come home. He flushes at their gratitude, and tries to explain he hardly helped at all—but finds himself inexorably pulled along, brought into the fold and kept there until he really must beg off. He has duties, meetings, and he'd like to see everyone before he has to go. They let him, reluctant and insist he return.

But when he reaches Lance's room, he looks inside, and finds it empty.

 

******

 

_“Wow.” Lance croaks._

_Shiro grins down at him, this impossible man, who saw something more than a hero, who caught him before he knew it. “You know, you say that a lot.”_

_Lance hiccups a laugh, “It's kind of the only word to describe you, honestly.”_

_Shiro chuckles, runs a thumb over Lance's lip. “When this is over...”_

_Lance looks up at him, Shiro's pulse stutters at the look in his eyes, “Yeah?”_

_“When this is over, I want to take you home.”_

_Lance's breath catches, bursts in his chest. He catches Shiro's face in his hands, pulls him close._

_“Yeah,” Lance murmurs, voice cracking, there's tears in his ocean deep eyes. “Together.”_

 

******

 

Shiro finds him beneath the vast bulk of the Atlas, the lions dwarfed in its shadow. Lance stares up at them, hands tucked into the pockets of his dress uniform, stance casual, like it's just another day and not the late afternoon after they've honored the fallen from their battle against Sendak, the last of the chairs being packed up to be stowed in the massive storerooms below them to wait for another celebration, or mourning. The former, if they can be lucky just once more. 

Lance doesn't change his stance when Shiro joins him, doesn't say anything as their gazes climb the vaults and contours of the lions, follow track to the massive bulk of the Atlas. 

Shiro looks at Black and feels every question rise up inside him, every hope, every memory. Why he was given all this, a body, a hope, a chance, when the man in this body before him deserved it just as much? Why can't he let it go, let them both go; to let everything fade away? Let time erase what used to be, let them both rest, find something else? Find peace in someone who won't hurt to see? Adam is gone, Lance's Shiro is gone. Why can't he let it be? 

Shiro looks at Lance; the soft planes of his face, the cut of his jaw. The way the breeze stirring across the airstrip makes him squint against the dust, lips quirked in that way where he realizes his efforts at being cool and aloof could be ruined. He remembers the sharp planes of Lance's shoulder, helping to carry him out of the Garrison's quarantine. The delight on his face when Blue woke for him. How he fought in their first battle, awkward and ungainly, how he takes command now, sure and steady, commanding the team in an instant, instincts sharp and sure. 

He remembers the words spoken to him 

“Lance,” He says, raw and open, unsure if he can stand to have Lance look at him, afraid of what he'll do if Lance doesn't.

“Lance, you're--” He stops. Swallows. Everything threatens to tumble out of him, to crumble to ash in his mouth before he can, “You're the only thing cooler than space.”

Lance turns to him, calm, steady. Shadowed by the Atlas, his blue eyes look dark like the ocean's depths. Shiro watches his chest expand, breathe in, breathe out. Lance looks at him, and there, in the fading light, Shiro can see just the faintest hint of a smile, old and sad.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you'd like to find me I'm on twitter at starbolts and tumblr as itsachance.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you're so inclined! They mean the world to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 is gonna be out after season 7. I have a feeling it's gonna be a major contributor to the direction this next part the fic is going to take. Thanks for reading! Please comment if you're so inclined!


End file.
